Hurtled into the Chaos
by waiting4morning
Summary: "...the world will shake before you..." A collecting place for DA2 drabbles. Some humorous; some serious. Various characters and het pairings. Spoilers are within! You have been warned!
1. Prompt: I've loved these days

A/N: Anders/femHawke

**Prompt: I've loved these days**

* * *

><p>Anders loves to watch her in the morning. Her skin is soft and supple in the warm light of the sun just starting to make tracks across the floor to their bed. <em>Their<em>bed. Six years ago he thought this an impossibility—this feeling of happiness that wells inside every time he looks at her.

Justice stirs. The spirit does not ever sleep really, but he has grown accustomed to the needs of a mortal frame and is generally quiescent at night. Anders ignores the feeling and reaches out a finger to trace the gossamer strands of hair framing her sleeping face. Once he'd joined with Justice, he'd resigned himself to the fact that a woman would have to be mad—or well paid—to be with him. But this woman was... different. She had not only invited him to her bed, but to her home; to her heart. The thought of leaving this, of killing the surprisingly fragile thing that existed between them... His hand drifts away. He has no right to such loveliness, such happiness. He props himself up on an elbow, gaze traveling across the room. A sleeve of his coat is hanging out of the closet and he feels another pang.

The ring is still there, inside a small pocket close to his chest. He'd bought it three years prior during a rare tide of joy. But Justice had asserted himself—reminded him of their true mission: what was personal happiness when so many innocents suffered and would still suffer more if he didn't do something?

_You know it's true,_Justice says inside his head. Anders closes his eyes, ignoring the call. Reaching over, he nuzzles her gently, smiling when she yawns and greets him with a sleepy morning kiss. He doesn't want this to end, not yet. But she is still tired and falls back asleep, murmuring his name.

_It is time_, Justice says and together they stand, get dressed, and leave the house.


	2. The Wait is Loooong

_A/N: Random drabble inspired by just how long a determined Anders-romancer had to wait, even for just one kiss. Stars my fem!rogue Imogen Hawke._

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><p>"... I don't understand the point of this line of questioning," Aveline said stiffly as Imogen Hawke approached their table at the Hanging Man with a tray of drinks.<p>

"It's just for fun, Aveline," Bethany said soothingly. "Isabela is just asking hypothetically—right?"

Isabela didn't answer, her attention fully on the drink that Hawke had just handed over.

"What did I miss?" Imogen asked, sliding into a seat.

"Isabela asked who'd we rather bed," Merril piped up cheerfully, "Anders, Sebastian, Varric, or Fenris."

"Or all four at once," Isabela said with a grin, surfacing from her drink. "Though, since Anders counts as two, maybe it should be all five at once..."

Bethany shook her head. "Anders is off limits, 'Bela—ow!" She winced as Imogen aimed a kick under the table.

Isabela rolled her eyes. "Oh don't pretend like we haven't noticed, Hawke. You two make so many calf eyes at each other, it's a wonder you can stand to be in the same room without jumping him."

"I have wondered," Merrill said thoughtfully, her large green eyes peering at Hawke with curiosity. "Does Justice make an appearance when you're together? Or is it that awkward feeling you get when you want to have a private conversation but there's someone clearly eavesdropping?"

"Aw, look, you've made her blush!" Isabela crowed with laughter. "I'm curious myself," she said with a wink, leaning forward over the table. "Is he as hairy as Varric? What color is his happy trail? Spill, Hawke! We want all the dirty details! Emphasis on _dirty._"

Hawke fiddled with her drink, cheeks burning furiously. "I... we...haven't really..."

"Haven't really, what?"

"Yeah, Hawke, what are you talking about?

"We've never even kissed, okay?" Hawke said this loud enough that people a couple of tables away looked over at them.

Everyone at the table looked surprised, except for Bethany, who Imogen had confided a little of her feelings for Anders. Isabela looked stunned.

"Wait a minute," Isabela set down her drink and faced Hawke with narrowed eyes, "You mean to tell me that for three years—three _flaming_ years you haven't got any? Surely you must have been to the Rose for some relief if our little apostate friend is too timid to knock boots with you. Look, Hawke, I have a paid subscription there if you want to borrow it for a couple of days. I'm sure Madam Lusine won't mind."

Hawke shot a frown at the pirate. "Honestly, Isabela, I'm not an animal. I don't want a casual tumble, so if I have to wait on Anders, I will. We've both been busy, and, well, we are a little unsure of what the situation would be like with his... little problem."

Isabela took a long drink from her tankard and shook her head, earrings jingling. "Maker's breath; three years. At least that explains why you fight like a demon—I would too if I was that repressed."

Hawke laughed. "I will admit, I have been getting a lot more blade practice lately..."

"Not even on that trip to the Deep Roads?" Isabela persisted. 'You two didn't sneak off to a side tunnel and—"

Hawke shook her head. "No; it was too dangerous to wander off and we were too busy trying to survive long enough to reach the surface in any case." She didn't mention that it was sometimes only she and Anders at the campfire. He was awake because of the incessant itch of the darkspawn crawling across his senses, and she stayed up as long as she could to help distract him. But even then, they merely talked while the rest of their company snored and dreamed around them. Not that she wasn't tempted. There were times as they sat by the fire that the longing to kiss him was so powerful that she had to get up and walk away. As hard as it was, she would respect his wish for distance. She wondered, though, how long she would be willing to wait. Right now she was... but what if it was another year? Two years?

"Speaking of the Deep Roads," Bethany said hurriedly, sensing Imogen's descent into melancholy, "Varric's going to give us our cut tomorrow. It should be enough to buy back the Amell estate in Hightown."

"Oh, really? Then drinks are on Hawke! Cheers!" Isabela thumped the table and ordered another round for the table.

A few drinks more and Hawke was laughing too hard to remember why she'd been feeling sad. Good friends, semi-good drinks—who needed anything more?


	3. Prompt: Not enchantment

**Prompt: Not enchantment!**

* * *

><p>Hawke saw the templar step into the front door of the Amell estate and wondered if her luck had finally run out. <em>I've gotten complacent, lazy. Dad would be ashamed…<em> she thought as the fear of discovery began pounding through her veins. _Should I run now? _No, that would be foolish. Mother was in there and not all templars were as understanding as Ser Thrask about harboring suspected apostates. If they wanted Ginevra Hawke, apostate mage, they would have her.

She eased the door open and entered the foyer. The two templars were facing away from her, speaking in an undertone to mother. This was her chance—she mentally ran through the best spells for dealing with templars: sleep, perhaps, followed by lightning…?

"Enchantment?" came a happy voice from within and Hawke bit her lip. She can't risk the others being hurt. _Sorry, Dad…_

"Is there something you needed?" She asked coolly, stepping into the room. She folded her arms across her chest to keep her fingers from twitching nervously.

The templars turned around, plate armor creaking. Mother shot her a fearful glance.

"There are rumors that this home is harboring an apostate," said one of the templars, frowning at her.

"Ah, messere!" Bodahn said with a flourishing bow in Hawke's direction. "I was just going to explain to these good sers about my son. Show them your enchantment, Sandal."

"Enchantment!" A moment later, one of the pictures on the wall fell to the floor, shattering into a hundred icy pieces

"You see," Bodahn said proudly, "my boy's an enchanter! He's quite good at it, but I imagine the noises sometimes do sound like magic and whatnot." He chuckled and patted Sandal's shoulder. The boy beamed toothily up at the armored men.

The templars looked at each other and nodded to Leandra. "I beg your pardon, Serah. We were misinformed."

As templars closed the door behind them, Hawke glanced at Sandal. "I owe you one."


	4. PS Sorry I knocked you up

**Prompt: P.S. Sorry I knocked you up.  
><strong>

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><p><em>Dear Leandra,<em>

_Will you marry me?_

_Mal_

_p.s. Sorry I knocked you up._

#

_Serah Hawke,_

_Are you asking because you should or asking because you want to?_

_Leandra_

_p.s. What do you think about Garret for a boy or Marian for a girl?_

#

_Dear Leandra,_

_What do you think? _

_Mal_

_p.s. I prefer Carver and Bethany actually._

#

_Serah Hawke,_

_I won't be able to wear a pretty dress in a Chantry, will I?_

_Leandra_

_p.s. Those names can be for the next two._

#

_Dearest Leandra,_

_I have a friend in the Chantry who doesn't mind apostates. If you don't care about midnight weddings, that is._

_Mal_

_p.s. I love you._

#

_Dear Malcolm,_

_I will be waiting in the courtyard garden. See you soon._

_Leandra Amell (soon to be Hawke)_

_p.s. I love you too._


	5. Prompt: Woe to you scribes and pharisees

**Prompt: Woe to you scribes and pharisees, hypocrites!  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Most days he hates them both equally. Mages constantly whining about their denied freedoms, protesting that if they were in charge of themselves there wouldn't be a problem. This is a lie, as he has spent the last few years uncovering blood mage after blood mage, intent on destruction and death. Hypocrites: all of them.<p>

Templars are no better. Wrapped up in their armor, their smug superiority still doesn't waver even as he as uncovers a murderer they should have been looking for _years_ ago. They rant about blood mages and the need to keep magical power in check, yet they conveniently ignore their own little blood magic rituals they use to find mages that do escape. "It's not the same" they huff, but he knows better. Then, when the mages are firmly under thumb, they don't stop there: they abuse and rape and tear down until little is left of a mage but a whimpering fool, or worse, a demon's desire for revenge.

There is really only one solution—one way to ensure that the corruption and hypocrisy ends. To start afresh—the bad mages and templars gone. A new order.

As he turns around, he sees the one templar that might be suited to be the new Knight-Commander kneeling before him.

"Your order, Viscount Hawke?"

He smiles.


	6. Prompt: You could've said

**Prompt: You could've said  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"You could've said, you know," Hawke said, propping herself up on an elbow.<p>

"But it's a horrible mood killer," said her bedmate, trailing a finger teasingly up her arm. He sighed at the look she gave him. "Look, I just wanted... I hoped that I could be _me_ for a night and not have to worry about... all that other stuff."

Hawke snuggled closer, pressing a kiss to the hollow dip of his collarbone. "All I'm saying," she murmured, smiling at the strangled sound he made deep in his throat, "is that if I'd known I was going to have the King of Ferelden in my bed, I would have at least changed the sheets."


	7. Prompt: Beautiful and broken

**Prompt: Beautiful and broken**

* * *

><p>It's not quite sunrise when she arrives at the Gallows. The templars guarding the gate grumble at the early hour, but when she passes them the usual bribe, the complaints cease and the silvery helms turn the other way. Still, she doesn't take chances. Before she arrived she rubbed her exposed face and hands with a temporary dye that Isabela said would even withstand a dunk in water. The infamous Champion of Kirkwall under their very noses, and they don't even notice.<p>

She moseys around the dark courtyard as yawning merchants begin to set up stalls for the day, all the while her heart beating a furious beat that surely echoed against the stone at her feet.

Finally, the sun begins to peek through the clouds, painting the white stone a glorious gold and red. As if on cue, she turns and sees him walking down the stairs from the exit to the Tower.

She can't stop her hurried steps toward him and as usual he waits for her patiently. His hair is cleanly cut, his face freshly shaved; he doesn't resemble the man she fell in love with at all... even more so because of the sunburst tattoo on his forehead. But she forces a smile anyway and takes him by the hand to get something to eat, because he is her Anders and he is still beautiful.


	8. Prompt: Bethany's First Kiss

**Prompt: Bethany - first kiss  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Bethany is twenty-two years old when she receives her first kiss. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted it much sooner. There was that boy in Lothering with the hair that fell over his eyes and quick smile. But she was a mage and it would break her mother's heart if anyone found out about them and made them move when they'd finally made a home. So she kept herself to herself and waited and watched and dreamed.<p>

She dreamed her first kiss would be from a handsome man with eyes like the sky. They would be in a meadow filled with flowers and a bright sun overhead.

The reality was... different. To call Nathaniel Howe handsome would have been an exaggeration, and his eyes were certainly like the sky—on a cloudy, rainy day. And there was no meadow, only cooling darkspawn corpses. There was no sun, only the heat of his gaze and the glowing remains of their campfire.

But as he pulls away from her, the corners of his stern mouth turning up, Bethany realizes that what actually happens is sometimes better than dreams.


	9. Prompt: Early days of the Hawke family

a/n: used the first name of my Hawke because it sounded weird for her father to call her "Hawke."

**Prompt: Early days of the Hawke family  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Imogen, wake up."<p>

Her father's warm hand came out of the darkness, shaking her shoulder. She rubbed her eyes, squinting at the fey light in her father's hands. "What? Is it morning?" she yawned.

"No, sweetie. We have to go. Someone in the village alerted the templars, and they'll be here any moment."

Imogen felt her stomach clench with fear and curled more protectively around her little sister still asleep beside her.

"We'll be long gone before they get here." Her father smiled reassuringly, seeing her fear and pressed a kiss into her sleep-tousled hair. "Wake your brother and sister. We should leave as soon as we can." The silhouette of her father left, heading toward her mother, outlined against the early morning sky in the door of the barn they'd stopped to sleep in. The farmer had been very kind yesterday-giving Imogen and her siblings warm biscuits flaky with butter dripping off the sides while Father looked at the horse with the injured leg. It was because father helped people with his magic that they were on the run so often. Perhaps, someday, they would find a place to live without the templars bothering them.

Imogen sighed, prodded Bethany to wakefulness and explained the situation. Bethany - only seven - looked like she wanted to cry but she bit her trembling lower lip and nodded, bending over her twin to shake him awake. The boy simply mumbled and swatted her hand away.

"Sister, Carver won't wake up!" Bethany said a moment later.

"We have to leave! The templars could be here any minute," Imogen hissed. She walked over, intending to pinch him or something, but the sight of her little brother's face-streaked with dust and the grime of travel-looking peaceful for the first time in days made her pause. Sighing, she enlisted Bethany's help and got her brother up on her back, his arms wrapped loosely over her shoulders.

"Ready?" Father came back, looking over them.

Imogen hefted Carver on her back and nodded. "Let's go."


	10. Prompt: I like it

**Prompt: I like it  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"There's one last thing I can give you," said the golden-haired Warden. He gave Hawke a piece of paper.<p>

It was a recipe for a particularly decadent dessert. Hawke scowled at the Warden. "You're kidding me, right? The qunari are rampaging through the city and you give me this?"

"Nope, not kidding," Warden grinned. He leaned forward with a conspiratorial wink. "Let me tell you a secret I learned about qunari during the Blight..."

#

The Arishok looked up as Hawke kicked the doors to the Viscount's Hall open. Hawke ignored the whimpers of the nobles, the sticky blood on the floor, everything, until reaching the bottom of the stairs.

"Shenadan, Hawke," said the Arishok, his face unreadable as always.

"Here," Hawke bit out, shoving a wrapped package into the oxman's surprised hands. "Before you do anything else... try this."

Bemused, the Arishock unwrapped the cloths to reveal... "What is this?"

"Cake. _Lemon_ cake. With blueberries. Try it." Hawke grinned.

#

"And when he said 'I like it,' it was all over—what? Varric, what's that expression? You look like you just smelled something rotten."

"Hawke, that story cannot go in your memoirs. It's too boring!"

Hawke frowned at the dwarf. "What's so boring about cake? Nothing! Besides, it's the _truth_."

Varric sighed. This human had no sense of drama at all. "Look, it doesn't sound... exciting or... action-y enough. Now, how about we work in a nice hand-to-hand combat scene. Oooh, I can almost see it now..."


	11. Prompt: No victories, only battles

**Prompt: There are no victories, only battles  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Sometimes he wonders if he's making a difference. Day after day they come to him with their wounds, their broken bones, their festering ulcers, their pregnant women with breech babes, and he does what he can for as long as he can.<p>

But sometimes magic isn't enough.

The baby is too small, too early to be born. Anders's magic cannot force the child to stay within the womb, only ease its passage. Covered in its mother's blood and the slime of afterbirth, the child-a boy-mewls pitifully for an hour or so before succumbing to internal deformities that doomed him the moment he was conceived.

He turns away from the quietly sobbing parents, ragged with exhaustion, his pool of mana a mere trickle. He needs to rest.

"Healer! Help! My brother, he's hurt bad!" A pair of boys, not past their thirteenth year stumble into his clinic. One is holding his hand to his eye, blood running down his face to stain his shirt. Anders turns to the nearest empty cot-he needs to sanitize it before letting the child sit there-but his magic refuses to respond. He's bone tired and a child might die because of it.

Anders closes his eyes in defeat. "I'm sorry, but-" His eyes fly open as a hand closes on his.

Hawke's eyes are determined and clear, her mouth lifting in a brief smile of greeting.

"What... what are you doing here?" He's given her the maps she'd wanted; what else could she possibly need?

"Show me what to do," she says simply.

He stares at her, eyes flicking to the staff she held ready in one hand. To trust his patients with another, so untested... yet, she had healed that guardsman in that fight with the templars, right?

"You cannot win every battle down here," he says.

Hawke lifts a shoulder in a shrug and goosebumps roll over his skin as healing magic blossoms at her fingertips. "But I can still fight."


	12. Prompt: What's that smell?

**Prompt: What's that smell?  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"What's that smell?" Isabela made a face, crinkling her nose.<p>

Anders sniffed the air inside the dank cave. "It's just natural gas. You find it sometimes in mines or deep caves."

"Ugh. The smell won't stay in my clothes or hair, will it?"

Anders shook his head. "Not once we reach the surface. It's relatively harmless as long as no one lights a-"

"Spiders!" Hawke suddenly shrieked and pointed ahead of them. "I'll get them!" With that, she cupped her hands, a huge fireball growing between them.


	13. Prompt: Supper or lecture?

**Prompt: I brought you some supper but if you'd prefer a lecture, I've a few very catchy ones prepped... sin and hellfire... one has lepers.**

* * *

><p>Sebastian woke with a pounding head and a mouth tasting like boiled socks. Where...? How...? Memory returned in a rush: sneaking from the monastery, drinking his bitterness away in a seedy pub, the smell of some prostitute's cheap perfume clogging his senses... He sat up, groaned, and leaned over, rubbing his aching head. Things were a little fuzzy. He remembered a fight... had he been in it? His arm was bandaged, so apparently yes.<p>

A step outside his cell made him lift his head, wincing against the light as the door opened.

"I see you're awake," came the gentle voice of the Grand Cleric.

Sebastian stiffened, his mother's rules of etiquette demanding that he rise in respect, but his legs seemed to be made of cotton. And he didn't feel like it. He didn't want to be here – had never wanted to be here. Perhaps the Grand Cleric would kick him out of the Chantry if he was lucky...

"Have you come to preach at me?" he said, rubbing his eyes.

She stepped into the cell further, setting down a tray on the bedside table. "I brought you some supper but if you'd prefer a lecture, I've a few very catchy ones prepped... sin and hellfire... one has lepers."

Sebastian didn't reply. Elthina went to the window and opened it, letting fresh air into the stale room. He felt a flash of embarrassment; he probably stank like sweat, ale, and… he sniffed discreetly… vomit. She sat down beside him on the bed, appearing not to notice.

"How do you feel?"

Caught off guard, he answered honestly. "Horrible."

Something like sympathy crossed her face. "Sebastian, I know you do not want to be here, but I see something in you. You could be so much more than what you are choosing and it pains me to see you waste your life like this."

He looked away. "At least it is the only thing left of mine to waste. Everything else I am has been given or taken away."

"Is it truly freedom to be enslaved as you are?"

"I'm not enslaved to anything! Or anyone! Especially not the Chantry." He said the last with a bite, intending it to sting, but Elthina simply looked sad and stood, smoothing her wrinkled hands over her robes.

"There will always be chains around us, child. Our freedom lies in how we view those chains: as shackles or as opportunity."


	14. Prompt: Like swimming

**Prompt: Like swimming  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Sex is... like swimming!" Isabela said brightly.<p>

"Isabela—" Merrill was pink to the tips of her ears.

"No, wait, I'm not done. You have to learn how to swim, right? And how will you learn unless someone shows you? Trust me, Kitten. I know you're embarrassed, but let me share some tips and your first night with Hawke will be... _grand_. If you want, I can give him some first-time advice as well!"

Merrill covered the pirate's hand with her own, still blushing furiously. "Isabela, though I... appreciate the offer, I don't think we—Hawke and I, that is—want to know."

Isabela blinked, nonplussed. "You... don't? Why not?"

If it was possible, Merrill turned a deeper shade of red. "The thing is... we'd rather figure it out ourselves. I mean, that's part of the fun, right?"


	15. Prompt: Is this a kissing book?

****Prompt: Is this a kissing book?**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Anders kissed her with all the pent up passion in his heart. Hawke felt his hands threading through her lustrous locks, moving down her arms, caressing the swell of her hips-"<p>

"Varric."

The dwarf blinked. "Yes?"

The dark-haired Seeker tapped her foot, a dangerous expression on her face. She jabbed at the book in his lap. "Is this a kissing book? Do you go on and on about Hawke's love affairs with such..." she made a face, "detail?"

Varric smirked. "No, I'm mostly making these parts up. Well," he amended, "they did kiss for the first time in my presence, but that was an accident and then Anders kicked me out and locked the door. I had to make up the rest for Isabela. I thought you would like it."

Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose and wondered if it would be easier to kill the dwarf and make it look like an accident.


	16. Prompt: Hit me

A/N: Mage!Hawke Desmond and Carver

**Prompt: Hit me**

* * *

><p>"What the void do you think you're doing?"<p>

Carver clenched his jaw and kept walking down the steps from Gamlen's home, into the twilight of Lowtown. His older brother's hand came down on his shiny new templar armor, spinning him around. Carver scowled; he forgot sometimes that his brother is so strong—people think that mages are wispy scholars but their father had not been such and had demanded that both his mage children have healthy, strong bodies.

"Leave me alone, Desmond, I've made my choice. As you made yours."

His brother stared at him and the pain of betrayal on his face was almost too much to bear. Carver held onto the memory of his brother sending him away from the expedition—it made him angry, helped him focus.

"Are you really such a little boy that you would betray our family like this?"

Carver ripped the hand off his shoulder. "Yes, Des, it's always about you, isn't it? I'm part of this family too!"

"Could have fooled me with the way you just left mother in there." Desmond threw back a hand at the sagging door to Gamlen's hovel. "She's on the floor, sobbing her soul out!"

Carver scowled, shoving aside the twinge of guilt. "She has you. That's all she needs. All she wants."

"So that's it." Desmond's hands were trembling with anger. He stepped forward, his eyes burning with an intensity Carver had only seen once before—it was the same look their father had when he'd stopped a bandit from killing a farmer on the road. "Do you what you like to me, Carver. Hit me, since apparently that's what you want to do by joining the templars. Hit me, call me names, spit on me if you like, brother, but if you _dare_ hurt mother, there is no Circle in Thedas that will keep you safe from me."

Carver didn't move; didn't breathe.

Desmond's face crumpled and he turned away, back to the house. He didn't look back.


	17. Prompt: Enchanted

**Prompt: Enchanted**

* * *

><p>"Marriage?" Malcolm Hawke puffs out a breath as he stacks the crate into the cart. "Not going to happen, friend. I know better than to get caught in that trap."<p>

His fellow worker shrugs with a laugh. "I said the same thing, lad, but the day I met my fine Elsbet, it was all over."

Malcolm chuckles. "Well, I know myself. And I—" He turns, sees a girl in fine clothing escorted by a young blond man with a smug face and an older woman with a fancy hat: nobles, slumming.

"—would have to be—"

The girl turns, laughing at something—a butterfly, perched on the blond man's pouf of hair (what's a butterfly doing in Lowtown, Malcolm wonders briefly).

"—absolutely—"

—and he is caught, breathless at the life in her face. The world seemed to pause at the lift of her lips; the sparkle in her eye. "Stop laughing so loudly, Leandra," the older woman fusses.

Malcolm feels his heart beating a wild pulse in his chest. "—enchanted."


	18. Prompt: Making sure it doesn't fall

**Prompt: Making sure it doesn't fall on you is the first lesson**

* * *

><p>"This," Malcolm said, bringing out his staff to place between himself and his oldest child, "is a mage's staff. You can perform magic without it, but a staff allows greater power for larger spells or for reaching targets further away." He held out the staff. With wide eyes, his child took it in both hands and the heavy end promptly bonked her in the head.<p>

One hug and a kiss for the "owwie" later, Malcolm picked up the staff again and tried not to laugh at the mulish look on his little girl's face. "Right. So making sure it doesn't fall on you is the first lesson."


	19. Prompt: This may come as a shock

**Prompt: This may come as a shock, but I'm actually not very good at talking to girls.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Hawke, if you're going to be sick, please do it away from my boots."<p>

Hawke laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Do I really look that bad, Varric?"

"I've seen darkspawn that looked better. What's on your mind?"

Hawke shifted on his feet and, to Varric's alarm, the tall mage started _fidgeting_. "Well... this may come as a shock, but I'm actually not very good at talking to girls."

Varric chuckled. "Let's just leave it at this, Hawke: if you and Aveline had ever decided to pursue each other, you'd be the most awkward case of awkward that ever awkwardly stumbled along."

Hawke laughed again. "So... what do I say? I'm around her and I feel huge and... as you say, awkward."

Varric shrugged. "Listen kid, don't make this harder than it needs to be. Our Isabela isn't fond of games. Let her know you're curious and she'll come along - with little hesitation, I might add. I have it on good authority she's curious about you as well."

Hawke looked horrified. "What? Maker, no! I mean, I like Isabela, but me and her-no. Just... no."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "I see... you have greener pastures in mind, then?"

Hawke blushed.

"Perhaps a delicate _elven_ flower?"

"Varric, I wonder if-Oh, hello Hawke," Merrill said, walking into Varric's rooms at the Hanged Man.

Hawke responded by trying to stand up from his chair too quickly, resulting in his robes tangling about his legs, and fell over.

"Goodness," Merrill peered down at him. "Was it something I said?"


	20. Prompt: Ghost of you

**Prompt: Ghost of you  
><strong>

* * *

><p>She sees him everywhere. His smile on a stranger's face. His laughter in the crackling fire. The glint of his hair at the corner of her eye.<p>

Mostly, though, she sees Anders in the face of her son whose brown eyes are brimming with questions that she will one day have to answer.


	21. Prompt: What the thunder said

**Prompt: What the thunder said  
><strong>

* * *

><p>When she was small and scared of the angry rumbling sounds in the sky, her father would scoop her up in his arms, tickling her face with his beard.<p>

"The thunder is speaking to us," he would say, his voice warm and knowledgeable. "It tells us that rain is coming and that we should be inside, because it's dangerous in the middle of a storm."

Years later, the Chantry's falling rubble rained down on them. As Sebastian started screaming into the stunned silence, she had to wonder - had she not listened to the thunder? Because now, she was caught in the storm and there was no way inside.


	22. Prompt: Drinks with little umbrellas

**Prompt: Drinks with little umbrellas  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"It won't always be like this, you know," she murmurs into the dark. Anders shifts beside her. It's been a month since they fled Kirkwall and they haven't stayed in the same place for more than a night. Tonight it's a barn; their bed, scratchy straw up in the loft. Dinner was two hard pieces of bread washed down with stale water from the rain barrel.<p>

"Hmm?" Anders finally says, his breath stirring the hairs on the back of her neck.

"I mean, some day we're going to find a really nice place," she says, warming to her topic.

"A barn with feather mattresses perhaps?" he says teasingly.

"Yep! And a nice farmwife who'll give us drinks with little umbrellas in them."

"And servants to fan us in the heat of the day?"

"Mmhmm. And you could rub oil on me to help my tan..."

"Mmm..." He kisses the back of her neck, nips playfully at her ear, but they're both too tired for more, and sink back into the straw with a sigh that - if not happy - is at least content. It's a clear night, and through the window at the far end, they can see the stars. And it's not fun, being fugitives, but they have each other - and that's all they need for now.


	23. Prompt: Dont bring a bow to a swordfight

**Prompt: Don't bring a bow to a swordfight  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Carver didn't have much opportunity to examine his new "home" in the exhaustion of arriving at Vigil's Keep the night before. He remembers endless hallways and a wordless shove toward a bunk, but that was all before the oblivion of sleep claimed him. Now, however, it's morning. His stomach is so empty he thinks it might soon collapse on itself, but, best of all, Stroud is nowhere in sight.<p>

He crams food in his mouth hurriedly, avoiding the casual curiosity of the other men in the mess hall – the other Wardens. He is one of them now. The thought sends a tremor of… something through his sated stomach. But as he shoves away from the table, he hardens his resolve. This won't be like the King's army and this won't be like Kirkwall. He'll be someone here – make a name for himself that isn't associated with his elder sibling for once in his life.

It isn't long before he finds the sparring ring, lured by the shouting and ring of steel as he walks outside. The fighters are skilled, leaping, and twisting out of reach; lunging for a quick strike. A man in nondescript armor writes down the results of the match, and Carver finds his interest suddenly piqued. Open swordplay as a way to advance in the Wardens? He smirked a little. _This is almost too easy._

He makes his way through the men and women lining the fence around the ring and taps the man on the shoulder. "I'd like to spar."

The man looks him up and down. "You're Stroud's newest recruit, yes?"

Carver clenches his jaw but nods. It is true after all. "But I've been fighting for years," he adds quickly. "I'm no stranger to the sword."

The man made a note on the slate. "All right, I'll pencil you in with the more advanced fighters. You turn will be up after this next."

"Excellent." He waits at the side, impatient, arms crossed over his chest and watches the crowd, wondering who his opponent will be. When the bout ends, he hops the fence, glancing around. He hopes for a moment it will be the small elven woman with gleaming hair and sparkling eyes, but he hears a footstep and turns.

His opponent is a tall, dark-haired slender man with a bow strapped to his back.

Carver frowned, and hefted his sword. "This is a sparring match – don't bring a bow to a swordfight."

The dark-haired man raised an eyebrow, and shifts into a fighting stance with an almost arrogant grace.

Carver scowls, determined to have this hawk-nosed man face first in the dirt, and charges forward.

Five minutes later, Carver sucks in a breath of air as he blinks up at the blue sky. His hand is grasped by a surprisingly strong grip and he is pulled up to face the archer, who grins at him.

"Don't bring a sword to a bowfight, lad."


	24. Prompt: Warden Sebastian

**Prompt: Warden Sebastian  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Nothing was happening as it should.<p>

He should have been a dutiful son. Instead he was the shame of his parents.

He should have kept his vows to the Maker. Instead he decided to follow a woman born of an apostate and an exiled noblewoman.

He should have listened to Anders after that fight with the darkspawn. But he didn't want to show weakness in front of Hawke and left the black blood where it lay, prefering pride over common sense.

He was paying for his sin already.

"It won't be long now," said the gravelly voice of the warden they came to rescue.

"Please, can you take him?" Hawke's voice, distant and sad.

A pause and then a sigh. "I cannot guarantee he will survive. The Joining is sometimes a death sentence."

"He'll die either way," Anders pointed out.

"I can still speak for myself," Sebastian manages to say, but it comes out trembling and weak. He could feel the taint in his blood already. A hand came down on his shoulder and he looked, bleary-eyed, into the harsh features of the Warden, Nathaniel Howe.

"Wardens renounce all rights to land and title, Your Highness. It is a choice made for life."

_Life._ He once wanted... his eyes strayed to Hawke... so many things. But this, apparently, is all he's entitled to. He nodded, and together, he and Nathaniel headed for the surface.


	25. Prompt: FOOD

**Prompt: FOOD  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Well," Hawke laughed nervously, "now that you're going to be living here, I should give you the grand tour."<p>

Hand in hand, she led Anders through the Amell estate, pointing out the pictures of two rather stuffy-looking Amells that her mother had identified as her grandparents, making them Hawke's great-grandparents. They moved to the lower part of the estate, where Anders had a good laugh at Hawke's expense as he uncovered another of Isabela's educational additions to the library. But he seemed fidgety for some reason, rubbing absently at his belly and glancing here and there. Figuring he was bored with the tour, she tried to speed things up.

Finally, they reached the kitchen. Hawke paused in the doorway.

"And this is the kitchen, but it's really boring and Orana is surprisingly possessive about her utensils-"

"FOOD!"

Anders pushed past her to a bowl of fruit kept on the counter, beside a basket of bread and cheese. Hawke could only watch open-mouthed as her new lover decimated a fistful of grapes, two slices of bread, and was beginning on a wheel of cheese before he seemed to come to himself and looked up at her rather embarrassed.

"I, er, was hungry?"

"I can see that," she said faintly.

Anders brushed the crumbs from his chin and chuckled. "It's a Grey Warden thing, my dear. You'll have to get used to it." He kissed the tip of her nose.


	26. Prompt: Look, I'm tellin' ya

****Prompt: Look, I'm tellin' ya, there's something moving…**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>They were somewhere in Ferelden. Where, he wasn't exactly sure. They'd run through the night and only now had they stopped to rest, safe in the shelter of some Tevinter ruins.<p>

He was coaxing the fire to draw a little more when she grabbed his hand, pressing it against her belly.

"What are you-"

"Shh!" She said, eyes wide. "Wait."

He fell quiet, waiting.

Nothing happened.

He shifted. "Love, I know it'll happen soon, but you might not be able to feel it at this stage-"

She cast him a withering glance. "Look, I'm telling ya, there's something movin' and it's not me!"

Anders opened his mouth to reply, but then he felt it, a whisper of a brush against his hand, a young life stirring beneath his fingertips.


	27. Prompt: I really dig girls with tattoos

****Prompt:**I really dig girls with tattoos****  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"I really dig girls with tattoos."<p>

"You'll have to do better than that, Tethras."

Varric sighed. Three days he'd been on the road with the lovely - and dangerous - Sigrun and all of his charm was falling flat. He must be losing his touch. But Sigrun was all that he'd been missing in Kirkwall, which had a low population of female dwarves. Not to mention she was funny, cute, and the way she handled her axe did funny things to his stomach.

In desperation, "Do you want to touch my chest hair?"

By the look he received in reply, Varric knew he'd be sleeping alone for another few nights.


	28. Prompt: What's your major malfunction?

****Prompt:** What's your major malfunction?****  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"I don't think I've ever met a group of people with so many... malfunctions."<p>

"Speak for yourself, dwarf," Carver muttered.

"Hey, I'm including myself in that group, Junior," Varric laughed. "Let's see... I'm lazy and a compulsive liar; you've got a chip on your shoulder the size of a qunari; Anders is a Grey Warden who broods about templars all day, and Aveline scares the crap out of everyone."

Hawke laughed. "That about covers it."

Varric got a thoughtful look on his face as he eyed the tall mage. "What about you, Hawke? What's your major malfunction?"

"I'm dashingly rougish apostate, what else do I need?" Hawke said with his most charming smile.

Carver's mouth went a bit grim, but he said nothing.

Varric chuckled. "Alright, Hawke. Keep your secrets, but I'll find out one day."

#

Corpses lay around them, blood and gore steaming in the night air. Luckily, none of the dead were any of his friends... but it had been a near thing. Varric wiped a sweaty hand across his brow and looked to where Hawke was standing - or leaning rather - on his staff.

"You, uh, alright, Hawke?"

The mage looked down on him, a mingled expression of remorse and defiance in his eyes. "I'm... a bit tired. But I'll be fine shortly." He turned away, not bothering to hide his hands in the folds of his clothing.

It was all to easy to see the slashes, still gleaming red, where the mage had cut himself.


	29. Prompt: Unwieldy, soft, warm

****Prompt:** Unwieldy, soft, warm****  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Babies, Anders decided, were decidedly unwieldy. They didn't know what to do with their little arms and legs and so they just went <em>everywhere<em>. They didn't seem to have the good sense to stay still and quiet when you needed it the most.

But as he carefully swaddled the newborn infant - despite its flailing limbs - and tucked him into his mother's waiting arms, he realized that they were also incredibly soft and warm.

Marian laughed at him, her eyes bright despite the exhaustion in her face. "You act like you've never seen a baby before."

"Correction," he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead, "I've never seen my son before."


	30. Prompt: Never should have let them dance

****Prompt:** Never should have let them dance****  
><strong>

* * *

><p>He had only himself to blame, really. He'd been teasing Hawke the whole evening about her dress, the faces she made as she sipped the really excellent champagne ("Maker! Do people actually drink this stuff for <em>fun<em>?"), and the endless line of mostly sober nobles who came to ask her for a dance.

She'd refused them all. But then _he _came into the room. Fenris hadn't been able to resist giving her a dare... And it had been worth it, at first, to see her stiff posture, her woodenly smiling face, and the awkward bow she made to the guest of honor.

But now Hawke and the King of Ferelden were relaxed and chatting and laughing as they waltzed across the dance floor. Her face was practically glowing with happiness, and the King's laughter rang throughout the room as they soared past.

Fenris scowled into his drink. "Never should have let them dance," he muttered.


	31. Prompt: I saw something nasty

****Prompt:** I saw something nasty in the woodshed****  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Bethany ran from the woodshed, mouth clamped shut to stop the scream that had risen in her throat. After awhile she stopped by a thicket of trees, leaning over and gasping for air.<p>

_Father leaned over her older brother, his gaze serious as he spoke softly, using his "teaching" voice. The knife gleamed in his hand-_

Bethany shut her eyes as if it would shut out the memory. How could he? How _could _her father betray everything he'd taught her about magic, about the Maker and Andraste?

Sinking down to the base of a tree, she felt ill. She would never be able to face Sister Leliana again. Tears warred with nausea for supremacy until a twig cracking in the still air made her look up, fingers trembling with magic.

"Hello, sweet pea," her father said in a gentle voice, his mouth crooked with his usual smile.

Bethany swallowed hard, and edged away. "Don't... don't come any closer, _maleficar_."

Malclom Hawke paused, his eyes shadowed with regret. "I'm sorry you saw what I was teaching to your brother, but you have to know something-"

"What is there to know?" She said in a trembling voice, wiping at the tears that ran down her face. "You're a _blood mage_. You're the reason the templars chase us - and now you've taught it to Kadin! I... I should go turn myself in to Ser Bryant..."

"Bethany," he grasped her arm firmly as she tried to walk away, "I have trifled with no demons, I swear on the Maker's sight."

Bethany stared at him. "How dare you invoke the name of the Maker when your foul magic still stains your face?"

Malcolm let go, touching his cheek where, indeed, there was a small blood splatter. He wiped it clean with a handkerchief, but his eyes - pleading and kind - stayed on her.

"Have you never wondered why I spoke about my family, sweet pea? Why I never suggest visiting my relations?"

Bethany nodded mutely, unsure of where he was going with this.

"It's because of this." He raised his hand where the cut he'd made to fuel his magic was already healing over. "This was the magic I cut my teeth on. My father learned it and passed it to me. Unlike my father, I _never _made any agreements with any demon to learn this power, I promise."

Bethany wiped her eyes again. "Then give it up, Father! It's not worth it! If the templars catch us..."

"They won't," he replied with firm conviction. "And I can't. Apostates need an edge in this world, Bethany. I believe that blood magic - when it isn't learned from a demon - is the edge we need. It has kept our family safe for sixteen years and it is time your brother learned to protect his family with every weapon in his arsenal."

Bethany looked at him, feeling hollow. "I suppose with that logic a soul is a cheap price to pay for power, Father."


	32. Prompt: Healing touch

****Prompt:** Healing touch****  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Nathaniel entered their quarters, wincing as he rolled his shoulder.<p>

Bethany, reading by the fire, looked up. "Trouble on patrol today?"

"Nothing we couldn't handle," he said, removing his leather armor. In nothing but trousers he examined a darkening bruise on his arm. "It was a long few days. Oghren snores like an ogre."

She giggled as he sat back on the bed with a sigh of relief. Bethany looked at him a moment, then put down her book and walked over to the bed.

"Turn over."

Nathaniel eyed her warily. "What are you doing?"

She smiled. "Trust me."

He cocked an eyebrow at her but complied, putting his chin on his crossed arms.

Bethany focused her magic, calling forth fire into her palms, but stopping short of actual flame. It took an immense amount of control to hold the warmth in her hands. The magic longed to be released in the far easier way of hurling a fireball, but precision was also vital in healing magic and she had learned well over the years.

She placed her heated hands on his shoulders, hearing his muffled grunt of surprise. Letting her hands rest on the coiled muscles of his back, she let the heat seep into his skin, feeling him relax against her fingertips. Only then did she start to massage the muscles, kneading the tense knots in his shoulders, smoothing her thumbs up the back of his neck and into his black hair.

He murmured something inarticulate, going limp beneath her touch, his eyes fluttering closed.

Bethany smiled to herself, humming softly.


	33. Prompt: Boomerang

****Prompt:** Boomerang****  
><strong>

* * *

><p>He knew that Merrill's obsession with Arlathan and all that the elves had lost would come back to haunt him.<p>

He just didn't know it would hurt so much.

"No, I'm not listening to this." Desmond Hawke stumbled from the room, from her words, from her large, beautiful eyes imploring him to understand.

"Ma vhenan—"

He clenched his jaw against the sob that threatened to rise in his throat. How could she suggest such a thing? _To him?_

_"Ma vhenan," Merrill comes to him with an impish smile at the corner of her mouth. She twists her fingers like she does when she was nervous, and he pulls her into his lap, kissing the spot beneath her ear. "Stop, you'll get me all flabbergasted until I can't think, and I've planned this for weeks now and I want to say this right-"_

_He laughs and lets her go. "Sorry, love. You were saying?"_

_"Yes, well," she continues breathlessly, patting her hair, "I was thinking that we might have a baby. We haven't seen any templars in quite a long time, and so I think it'll be quite safe—" Hawke cuts her off by kissing her deeply, his hands pulling her closer._

_"I would love to have a child with you, Merrill," he breathes, smiling. "I can't wait—"_

_Merrill pulls away, shaking her head. "No, no, you don't understand—not us. I mean, we could—the mechanics would work—but I'm not... I don't want..." She sighed. "There's no good way to say this, but I want an elvhen child, ma vhenan. I have a sacred duty to my people and... and, well, you... can't... aren't a part of it."_

_Hawke stared at her a moment. This had to be a joke, but Merrill didn't tell jokes—not like this anyway. Hers were all awkward pacing and revealing the punch line before the right moment. But now her eyes were steady and serious. He rubbed a thumb across her hand, surprised that his own wasn't shaking. Merrill continued on, oblivious to the effect her words were having._

_"I've already been to the alienage and there're a few men who might be suitable candidates. You'll have use your healing magic to examine them for..." she wrinkled her nose, "any... diseases, but when I broached the topic they didn't seem disinterested—Hawke? Where are you going?"_

Desmond burst from their small, cozy home, drinking in the cool autumn air. He was a fool. Her obsessions from the past had come full circle and now he was paying the price.

Lowering his face into his hands, he wept.


	34. Prompt: Interesting words

****Prompt:** Interesting words... have you finished?  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Hawke waited with arms crossed over her chest as Anders fumbled with his pieces of paper, transferring a smear of ink from his thumb to his cheek.<p>

"I've, um, been writing..." he explained with such boyish enthusiasm that she had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. That would not do; he'd only assume that she was mocking him and get angry and then they'd have one of their fights and, really, she did like him... She didn't want to fight with him all the time...

"So," he said as he finished, looking at her with adorable earnestness, "what do you think?"

"Interesting," she said, allowing some of her smile to escape. "Have you finished?"

He bristled. _Like a cat_, she thought, amused and took a step forward.

"You..." Anders shook his head, running a hand through his hair causing the ink on his face to smear even more. "I don't know sometimes whether to kiss you or kill you."

"Let me solve that problem for you," she said, snatching the pages from his fingers, and leaning forward to press her lips to his.


	35. Prompt: January hymn

****Prompt:** January hymn  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Varric used to tease her about humming and singing under her breath, said he should have nicknamed her "Songbird" instead of "Sunshine."<p>

But ever since Wintersend—since her Joining—she has not heard the music that used to be in her heart. It has withered, drowned beneath the flow of tainted blood that now runs through her veins.

It was cold in the Fereldan Keep, but she hardly noticed as she trained outside with straw dummies.

She would rather be anywhere but here—Anders ran away, didn't he? But Stroud seemed to sense the risk of leaving her alone and assigned her a mentor—an older Warden. She laughed quietly with bitterness: "Warden" was a fitting word, for she was a prisoner to the order; to the poison in her body. Even now he was watching, pretending to train as she was, flinging arrow after arrow into painted targets.

"Spar with me, Senior Warden," she found herself calling out in a brash challenge that she never would have said before the Joining. "I tire of these false enemies that provide no threat."

Nathaniel Howe raised one dark eyebrow, but followed her without comment to the ring.

Standing opposite him, Bethany hurled a fireball, remembering a distant time when she and her father had sparred like this. He'd taught her to use her magic to fight, to protect herself and her siblings.

"I never wanted this," she muttered, watching Nathaniel dodge the daggers of ice she flung at him. He fired off an arrow, but she blocked it easily. Suddenly, the other Warden was gone. She tensed, cursing her inattention. The rogue had obviously stealthed himself and—

Bethany crumpled to her knees with a cry of pain as he knocked her knees out from under her. She stared up at the sky, tears leaking from her eyes.

"I never wanted this," she said again, a sob strangled in her throat.

Nathaniel leaned down next to her, concern crossing his angular features. She laid there, feeling stupid, and horrible, and wishing he was a real enemy that would just kill her and get it over with.

Instead, he offered a calloused hand. "Come," he said in a gravelly voice. "You'll never find a reason for this if you lay there in the mud."

Reason. A purpose for this misery? Perhaps. Perhaps it was possible. She locked eyes with him, noticing that his irises were gray, like the never-ending clouds above the Keep... or like the glint of a blade shining ahead of her on the path out of Lothering. _Carver_. Bethany swallowed and grasped the older Warden's hand. _For you, brother, I will try._


	36. Prompt: Wash him out of my hair

****Prompt:** I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Isabela slipped into the large brass tub in the kitchen of the Amell estate and sighed in pleasure at the sheer luxury of so much hot water. When she could get a bath, normally she had to be content sneaking into Varric's quarters. Though that was better than the bucket of cold water normally given to guests at the Hanged Man, the dwarf-sized bathtub really wasn't comfortable.<p>

But this... Isabela sank into the water so that her knees broke the surface and the steaming water came up to her collarbone. This she could get used to.

The thought niggled at her for a moment, like an itch on her foot that she couldn't quite scratch. Did she want to get used to this? She'd made it clear to Hawke from their very first night that they were using each other - just letting off steam. But unlike her previous lovers, she'd been sleeping in Hawke's bed for a little over a month.

That explained the itchy feeling. She'd been here too long. Time to weigh anchor and get out of the harbor. Isabela dunked her head under the water, scrubbing at her scalp with her fingers. It was time to leave; he didn't need her, after all. All that talk about love... he was just trying to leash her like her husband had tried. Well, she wouldn't allow it. She scrubbed at her arm with a sponge, watching with satisfaction as a layer of grime from the day's foray into Darktown came off. A clean, fresh start; that's what she needed.

"Any hot water left?" Hawke's deep voice came around the privacy screen hiding the tub.

"Yep," she replied automatically, then chided herself. _Do it now!_

"Mmm." She felt Hawke's body slide into the tub behind her, unable to hide the smile on her face when he pulled her back against him.

"Scrub my back?"

Hawke chuckled, pressing a damp kiss to the side of her neck. "Only if I can work my way to the front afterward."

_Maybe... I'll leave later_.


	37. Prompt: Blood and fire

****Prompt:** Blood and fire  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Kadin Hawke yelled as he whipped his staff up and into the darkspawn's head. It fell to the ground with a gurgle. He glanced around, but for now all the darkspawn were dead. Leaning heavily on his staff, Kadin hoped that Carver would get home soon. Between the deserters of Cailan's grand army - some no better than criminals - and the ever-increasing trickles of darkspawn, he'd used up nearly all his strength to defend their home. He'd even split the emergency lyrium potion his father had kept stored behind a loose brick in the fireplace with Bethany.<p>

He resisted the urge to sink to the ground in exhaustion. If the darkspawn came now, he wasn't sure what he would do. Bethany came to his side, a glass of water in her hands. He took it gratefully, draining it.

"Brother, if more darkspawn come before Carver-"

"We'll be fine," he interrupted. "Just stay behind me; protect Mother." He wiped the sweat from his forehead. "On second thought, while there's a break here, go help Mother with the packing. We'll want to leave as soon as Carver shows up."

Bethany nodded, looking a little relieved, and ran into the house.

The wait wasn't long, but not for the person they'd hoped. A dozen darkspawn spilled into the fields in front of their home. Kadin shouted back at the house in warning and they were upon him. He swung his staff, hitting, slicing, calling upon the smidgen of mana in his body. But there were too many.

Behind him, he heard his mother screaming, and whipped around. The house was on fire. Inside, he could see flashes of light as Bethany fought on the inside. There wasn't room in there to fight and if they reached Mother...

"No!" Kadin reached for his magic, but the light sputtered and died on his fingertips. There wasn't time; there wasn't a choice. Fingers trembling, he reached for the last throwing knife in his boot, and before he could think too hard about it, sliced his hand open. Like a floodgate suddenly opened, power filled his body - but it was different than cool, clean mana. The blood magic felt... oily, a sluice of murky undertones, and a silken whisper on the other side of the Veil murmuring of untold power. With a tremendous effort, he closed out that voice and concentrated instead on the spells he already knew - lightning, fire, ice. Within moments, the darkspawn were dead.

"Brother!" Carver ran up, breathing hard, and looked at all the cooling darkspawn corpses. "Are... are you alright? Is everything okay?"

Kadin hid his cut hand in the folds of his tunic. The power had dimmed, but it's greasy echoes still lingered in the back of his mind. He swallowed his nausea and conjured his typical carefree smile. "We're fine, little brother."

Just fine.


	38. Prompt: Wait and this will blow over

****Prompt:** Wait and this will all blow over  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The door slammed, making the paintings on the wall shiver.<p>

Sorcha Amell sighed and looked at her husband, still in his costume from the ball. "I've about had it with that girl. What happened to Leandra? She used to be the perfect daughter - charming, bright, genteel. How is it that she's..." she waved her hands, looking for the word, "_cavorting_ about with a _mage_ of all people?"

Her husband gave his mask and cloak to a waiting servant and took her hands in his. "Little Leandra's growing up, my dear." He kissed her hands. "Don't worry. In the morning, she'll apologize for her behavior tonight. Let her alone to sort out her feelings and have a fresh start tomorrow. If we wait, it will all blow over, you'll see."

In the morning Sorcha was just tying on her robe over her nightdress when the maid, breathless and pale, ran in holding a scrap of paper. The note was written in the elegant hand that she'd taught Leandra to write in.

_Dear Mother,_

_When you read this, I will be gone..._


	39. Unfair

**Unfair**

"Hawke, might I speak with you a moment?" Sebastian gestured her to the side in the market as Varric haggled with one of the merchants and Merrill played with a stray kitten.

"What's on your mind?" Hawke shifted the shield on her back to a more comfortable position.

"I find myself in need of sleeping quarters tonight. The head steward found a rat in the Chantry dormitory and is performing a most thorough cleaning tonight." He made a face. "If it isn't too much trouble, could I stay with you? It would be only one night and I wanted to avoid spending coin at an inn like the other brothers and sisters will be."

Hawke nodded; Sebastian never spoke about his finances, but she knew that he set aside every coin they earned. Though he was still undecided about what to do for Starkhaven, he wasn't about to be unprepared should he choose to retake it.

"Of course," she answered. "There's plenty of room in our old estate."

He looked relieved. "Thank you, my friend."

#

"Welcome to _Chez_ Amell," Hawke said in a fake Orlesian accent as Sebastian followed her in later that day. "Hush, Shep, you silly dog," she directed this at the mabari who'd started growling at the sight of the man behind her. "You know him, so stop trying to show off what a big, scary dog you are."

The mabari woofed, sounding a little shamefaced and curled up again beside the fire.

"It is a beautiful home," Sebastian said, looking around. "I had no idea the Amells were so…"

"Deep in pocket?" Hawke offered with a laugh. "I know. It makes me wonder how exactly Gamlen got rid of all of it. Unfortunately, the other parts of the estate are still in ruin." She frowned, dismissing a hovering Bodahn with a flick of her fingers. "You don't even want to know what sort of filth the slavers left behind." Her eyes darkened. "The worst of it has been cleared out, but it'll be years before the rest of the estate is habitable again. So we focused on a small part for now – these few rooms and the kitchen." She climbed the stairs, gesturing Sebastian to follow. At the entrance to her room, she opened the door. "This is my room. You'll sleep here tonight."

Sebastian stopped, looking uncomfortable. "Hawke, I appreciate the offer, but I shouldn't… uh…"

Hawke laid a hand on his arm. "I'll be sleeping in my mother's room."

He looked relieved and stepped past her into the room to set down his pack. "Thank you." His eyes flicked around the room, coming to rest on the lute by the fireplace. "Practicing were you?" he teased.

"Oh! That's Orana's," Hawke said, a faint blush crossing her features. "She's been trying to teach me. I… I do like music, but I don't think I'm very good." She held up her hands with a laugh. "Soldier's hands – too calloused and clumsy on such delicate strings."

Sebastian took her hands in his. Hawke sucked in a breath at the casual touch, but he didn't seem to notice. "These are the hands of a defender and protector, Hawke." He looked at her and smiled. "I would enjoy hearing you play sometime." Dropping her hands, he moved further into the room, removing his quiver and bow.

"I'll… I'll let you get washed up, Sebastian," Hawke said at the doorway. "Just ring the bell for hot water. Oh, and have a care for your armor. Sandal likes shiny things."

#

Hawke didn't sleep well in her mother's room. She'd only been in there once since her death—otherwise it had remained closed, forbidden even to the servants. Her mother's smell—of summer lilacs—was everywhere. Even the simple, tasteful jewelry her mother had taken to wearing once they moved into the estate—sitting out at the vanity as if she was getting ready to put them on—was a painful remainder of what she had lost.

Finally, after a few hours of tossing and turning, she got up, pulled on a robe over her shift, and padded out to the landing. Instead of going to the kitchen for a warm cup of tea like she intended, she stopped instead at the fireplace, stirring the red embers to life, and sitting down before it in Shep's usual spot.

She hadn't been staring into the fire long before she heard footsteps behind her. "Hawke?" She turned, her eyes widening at the sight of a yawning, bare-chested Sebastian.

"Are you well?" he asked in a concerned voice.

She opened her mouth to say that she was, but perhaps the hour, or something made her speak the truth instead. "I can't sleep. My mother's room…" she trailed off. "Sometimes I miss her so much I can't breathe."

Sebastian stilled. "Do you mind if I join your vigil?" She shrugged and he sat down beside her, close enough she could feel the warmth coming off of him. They sat in silence for several moments.

"What were your parents like?" she found herself asking.

Sebastian shifted, one arm resting on a knee. "My father… was a kind man; no matter how busy he was, he always made time for his children, even me, the youngest. He was also a natural leader; when he spoke, people listened; turned their heads just to watch him go by." He looked down at her with a half-smile. "Not unlike you, Hawke."

She snorted. "That's just because I shout louder than most."

He laughed. "Even so." He paused. "My father was also a gentlemen: he treated everyone with respect, from the elven chambermaids in the manor, to the wealthiest nobles at court." Sebastian's mouth curved in a smile as he looked at the fire, eyes distant. "He told me a story once, that as a young man—when my grandfather was still Prince—he was reading out in the common gardens when a beautiful young woman passed by. He was dressed simply that day—no ornaments or expensive clothing as he had intended to go riding later and the young woman mistook him for a laborer. With an imperious air, she ordered him to show her the way to the Prince's manor, for she was expected that very minute. My father did as she asked, enduring her orders to also carry one of her many parcels—she was a young woman home from long years of schooling in Orlais, you see. Imagine her surprise when they arrived at the manor and it was he who was greeted with respect and honor." Sebastian laughed.

"Who was she?"

"Eventually she became my mother." He chuckled at the look on her face. "Love and age softened my mother's… more sharp edges. She was only a girl then, you see; frightened at being in a city that she only barely remembered as a child. It must have been upsetting for her. My father was able to see past that, to the gem of the woman within."

Hearing a wistful note in his voice, Hawke scooted closer to him so that their shoulders touched. "You must miss them very much."

He looked down at her. "Yes. I thought that time would heal the wound and it has, somewhat. But other days it is as fresh as if it had just happened." He cleared his throat of the sudden roughness in his voice.

"They would be proud of you, Sebastian," she said softly, edging her fingers over next to his on the floor, just barely touching his hand.

"I pray you are right," he turned to look at her, his voice gone husky again. Who made the first move she wasn't sure, but a moment later his mouth was on hers. His kiss was terribly tender and gentle, as if she were made of glass and not flesh and bone. She felt his other hand come up to cup the side of her face, the edges of his fingers tangling in her loose hair. A warm ache loosened in her chest and she leaned forward to deepen the kiss, but suddenly he was gone, and cold air rushed between them.

Sebastian stood, his back to her, rigid.

Slowly, she stood as well, reaching out for him, but he seemed to sense her nearness and stepped away.

"I'm sorry, Hawke. That should not have happened." He looked up at her, his face faintly flushed, but still calm and collected.

She paused. "It's okay, Sebastian. It was just a kiss."

He shook his head. "No. It's never 'just a kiss.'" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "This was a mistake. I am very sorry." He walked over to the stairs, heading up to his room. A moment later, he emerged, more or less dressed, his pack over his shoulder.

Hawke stepped forward. "You don't have to leave. Look, I'm sorry about… it doesn't have to mean anything." She stopped as he reached out to trace his fingers along the curve of her jaw.

"But it did mean something, and we both know it," he said. He dropped his fingers. "I… I have to leave now or else I wouldn't be able to face myself in the mirror in the morning." He closed his eyes briefly, as if praying for strength, then looked at her again, his expression pained. "Did you wonder why I was also up at this hour, Hawke? It was because of you - your room, the smell of your perfume in the air; everything made me think of you. I got up to pray for strength and then..." he gestured at the fireplace, indicating what had happened. "This… whatever it is between us isn't fair. Not to you; nor to me."

Hawke folded her arms across her chest, fighting off a shiver. "Where are you going?"

"The Hanged Man, perhaps. Or the Chantry, if Varric won't put me up for the night. If I have to sleep on a pew, so be it," he smiled and turned to leave.

"Sebastian, you aren't… will I see you again?"

He stopped and didn't turn around. "Yes… but perhaps not for a few days. Good night, Hawke."


	40. Prompt: I'm certain you let my hands

A/N: Same Hawke as previous Sebastian drabble, but different time. Probably earlier.**  
><strong>

**Prompt: I'm certain you let my hands wander your hips just to leave me desperate now**

* * *

><p>"Sebastian... I need help." Sinead Hawke blew out a breath of frustration, lifting the fringe of her bangs.<p>

Sebastian looked up from his task, stringing the new bow they'd found, of all places, in a dark cave on the Wounded Coast. "If I can aid you in any way, I will." He held up the bow, testing the string. "What seems to be the problem?"

Hawke rubbed her calloused fingers over the rough face of her shield. Behind her, Anders and Varric bickered over the contents of the night's supper. They had stayed out too long to clean out a nest of raiders and now had to camp instead of risking the narrow, treacherous cliffs of the Wounded Coast to get back home.

"Mother... is having a... 'coming out' party for me." She fidgeted with a strand of hair, resisting the childish urge to chew on the end. "She thinks it's high time I put my 'standing', as she calls it, to use and make myself known in polite society."

Sebastian chuckled. "A coming of age ball? That's nice of her." His blue eyes twinkled in the flickering firelight. "Will there be any particular beau you are looking forward to dancing with?"

"That's the problem!" Hawke burst out. "I don't know how to dance. Mother's offered to hire a dancing master, but I'd rather dash my head against this rock." She kicked at the ground, scuffing her boot.

"I quite understand. My mother hired a dancing master when I was a mere lad; she expected all of my brothers to learn the art." He paused. "Of course, since I had no sisters and my mother was too tall or otherwise busy to practice with us, I - as the youngest - was often the stand-in partner."

Hawke laughed. "Did they make you wear a dress?"

Sebastian grinned. "Only once, but I gave my brother a black eye for it."

"So you do... know how to dance?" Hawke held in a breath.

"Of course. Would you like me to teach you?"

She released her breath in a nervous laugh. "Yes. It would be better having someone I l- I mean, someone I _know _rather than a stuffy master who will no doubt chide the way I stomp around like an ogre." She flexed her hands against the warmth of the fire. "Soldiers aren't meant to be graceful."

Sebastian had an odd look on his face.

"What?" she said self-consciously, trying not to chew on her hair again.

"Nothing," he said, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. Or was that just the heat of fire? He ran his fingers along the wood of his bow, checking for imperfections that might need smoothed over. "Only... ever since the first time I saw you fighting, I thought you might have been born to dance. The way you move around the battlefield, around your enemies..." He trailed off and cleared his throat. "I think you give yourself too little credit, Hawke."

She could say nothing to that.

#

Orana played softly in the background, her nimble fingers picking out the lively notes to a few popular dances. Hawke was surprised to learn that she wasn't bad at dancing at all, and learning the motions was no more difficult than memorizing sword forms. Sebastian was a patient teacher and didn't even laugh at her when she came down the stairs in a dress. He had an odd expression on his face, but it cleared as he began to guide her through the motions.

"Remember," Sebastian said, standing opposite her about two feet away, "there will be other two lines of dancers, standing as we are. You'll have to navigate everyone else who's moving around. There won't be as much space to maneuver as we have just by ourselves."

"I'll remember," Hawke said. "Thank you, Orana. You can leave now."

The elven girl bowed silently and scurried from the room.

Hawke turned to thank Sebastian, but he was rubbing the back of his neck with an adorably embarrassed expression on his face.

"What?" she smiled.

"Well, there's... one other dance I could show you." He cleared his throat. "Mind you, it's not very... orthodox, but it is becoming rather fashionable... but if you don't have time," he said in a rush, "I can just leave.."

"No, I have time. Mother is visiting some friends." Hawke took up her position opposite Sebastian. "How does it go?"

"Like this."

All the breath left Hawke's body as Sebastian stepped forward, grabbing her confidently around the waist and pulling her so close she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"Oh."


	41. Prompt: I think she knows

**Prompt: I think she knows  
><strong>

* * *

><p>In retrospect, agreeing to help his sister sneak pies from the larder hadn't been the best decision. But oh how it had seemed right at the time.<p>

They had thought that their parents weren't home. Mother should have been training new recruits at the Keep and father usually liked to watch, or talk to the Warden-Commander. They should have been able to get inside without anyone knowing about their crime.

"Hurry, Ben!" Addi hissed, her blond pigtails bobbing ahead of him. She slipped inside and he followed, breathless and almost uncomfortably full of pie.

Addi stopped dead inside the door, and he ran into her with an "oof!" Until he saw. Their mother was standing over them, frowning in that way that made her facial tattoos seem darker and ominous, like storm clouds. Behind her, he could see their father struggling to hold in laughter.

"Uh... we.. were just..." Addi stammered.

"Sneaking into the kitchen to steal pies?" Sigrun's eyebrows furrowed dangerously.

"I think she knows," Benjamin gulped to his sister.

"That would be correct, piespawn," Varric chuckled, coming up behind their mother. "You see, the evidence is all over your faces. Next time, wash up before you come in the house."


	42. Prompt: Mage hunter

**Prompt: Mage hunter  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The trail had been cold for months, but all he needed was a whisper; a hint as to their - <em>his<em> location.

Finally, it came.

"A man and woman matching the descriptions have been spotted in the Anderfels near Weisshaupt, ser," said the templar recruit.

"Thank you. Send word to the Knight Captain and a dozen of the men to be ready to leave in an hour's time." Sebastian curled his hand into a fist, calling forth his will into a cleansing wave. His templar skills were rudimentary at best, but they were hard-learned and when he finally came face to face with the abomination and his harlot, he would be ready.


	43. Carver's Date

_A/N: Lame title, I know! Just ignore it. lol This drabble was inspired by my dismay about finding out certain things about Carver. :(  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Carver's Date<strong>

Things were finally looking up for Carver. His duties had become a little more interesting now that the main phase of his recruitment and templar training was over with and he finally had some free time. Time for things like… dates.

"… I saw the ogre that killed King Cailan," Carver said, eyes distant as he walked through the public garden. "Captain Varel—my commanding officer—ordered the retreat, though it was more of a rout. We were fleeing for our lives."

"Maker's breath, it's a miracle you made it out alive. You must have been very lucky or very skilled," his date said, blue eyes widening. Carver straightened a bit at the compliment and smiled. He hadn't been thrilled when Keran had set him up with his sister, but Macha had turned out to be a pleasant surprise. She was smart, fun, pretty, and, most importantly, she hadn't mentioned his older sibling once.

They reached the exit to the gardens, and Carver gestured as the setting sun sent golden rays, coloring the white stone of Hightown a warm shade of orange. "Do you want to get dinner? There's an inn not too far from here that the other recruits have been talking about."

"I would like that," she said with a shy smile, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ears. "But wouldn't you like to change out of your armor first? I mean, Keran's often told me how uncomfortable templar armor is after a long day."

Carver drew himself up. "I think it a good thing that the people of Kirkwall see just who keeps their streets safe. But, if you really think I could change," he added in a lower tone, looking down at her as they walked, "you can… help me remove it later."

Macha blushed, which he took as a good sign, so he felt bold enough to take her hand and place it in the crook of his elbow.

Carver continued talking, but something seemed off. She only gave the barest smiles at his jokes and seemed preoccupied. A little annoyed, he stopped walking, releasing her arm so he could face her.

"What's wrong, Macha? You didn't even answer the last question I asked."

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Carver, I just…" She sighed and rubbed her temple. "I don't know how to ask this without sounding a complete loon, so I'll just spit it out: What did you mean, earlier, about… removing your… armor?" Her face was a brilliant shade of red, but she seemed serious.

Carver cleared his throat, feeling his own face heat up. He'd thought the line pretty good, but if she was going to throw it back in his face…

"Well… you know, I thought, if things go well… we might… retire after dinner. To a room. At an inn. Alone," he finished lamely.

Macha chewed her lower lip again. "Carver, I think you're very sweet, and I wanted to give this a try because I _do_ like you and Keran said you were a good man."

"I like you too," Carver blurted out, afraid of the "but" he could hear in her voice.

"Thank you," she said, but she continued, undeterred. "But I hear other things about you: things that Keran won't tell me, but is unavoidable to learn when Hugh and Paxley come over for drinks and start talking a lot."

"They gossip about me like a bunch of old hens, do they?" Carver bristled, hands clenching.

"Not about you specifically," she said hastily, seeing the hurt and anger on his face, "just in general about how all of you will go to the Blooming Rose and how often and which of the workers there you visit and why she is your favorite."

"Oh." This was not good.

Macha blew out a breath. "I think we should probably call it a night, Carver. Thank you for taking me to the gardens. I had a good time."

Carver caught her arm as she turned. "But… wait! So you're just going to leave? Just like that? All because I… visited the… Rose a couple of times?"

Macha calmly removed his hand from her arm. "That is an over-simplification of the matter, but yes."

Carver's mind whirled, trying to find a foothold, anything. "But," he took a step closer, trying out his most suave smile. "Don't you want an… experienced man?"

Macha compressed her lips and took a step back so that he wasn't looming over her. "What if I were to take a fork, such as the one that we might have used to eat dinner tonight, and take it all over Kirkwall. Perhaps I dropped it a couple of times in the sewers. Maybe it got stepped on by someone with muddy boots. Would you still eat off it?"

"Of course not!" he answered automatically but then his brain caught up. Oh. _Oh._

_She thinks I'm_…

Her eyes were kind as she looked at him. "What I want is an honest man; a gentleman. Just because you've slept with a few prostitutes doesn't make you 'experienced' in a way that I find attractive."

Carver couldn't say anything.

"A man I would find attractive," she continued in a soft voice, fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve, "is confident in himself, not because of what he has done or what he can do to prove his worth to others, but because he's comfortable in his own skin. I think, Carver, that you are not yet… comfortable."

In silence, he walked her back to her home in Lowtown and returned to the barracks in the Gallows. A few of his fellows looked up as he got in.

"We were just going to the Rose, Carver. Want to come along? I hear Faith's learned a few new tricks." There was ribald laughter and a few knowing grins.

Carver turned away. "No, I'm… too tired tonight. Go ahead without me."


	44. Prompt: Secret Tunnel

**Prompt: Secret tunnel  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"You know I don't like surprises, Tails," Varric grumbled. One of his hands was on the woman's shoulder ahead of him. The other was held out in front as he blindly felt his way ahead, despite his trust in the one leading him. His eyes were bound by a length of wool that he was pretty sure had been stolen from the Warden-Commander's rooms.<p>

"Tails?" He could almost _hear _the wrinkle on her cute little nose.

"Trying out a new nickname."

Sigrun snorted. "I liked 'kiddo' better."

"Suit yourself." He paused. "I don't like tunnels either." Her shoulder twisted under his hand as if she was half turning to look at him.

"How'd you know we were in a tunnel?"

"I'm dwarf enough to know when I'm underground. Or," he amended, "enough of a surfacer to know when I'm underground. Anyway. Tunnels. Don't like 'em."

"You'll like this one," she said, a grin in her voice. "It's a special tunnel. A _secret_ tunnel."

"Special secret tunnels are the worst."

"Oh hush. We're almost there."

Varric sighed and let himself be led. Sigrun had a thing about surprises. She liked getting gifts, but her face really lit up when she was giving something to someone else. Varric, the most recent import into the City of Amaranthine where he and Hawke and Blondie had taken refuge with the Wardens, was the latest receiver of her attentions. Not that he minded. There had been sadly few dwarven women in Kirkwall. Fewer still that could take off his head with an axe and look cute as a button while doing so.

Still, as much fun as he'd been having as a fugitive, he missed Kirkwall. Missed the Hanged Man. The drunken laughter, his luxurious rooms... even the smells of unwashed humans and stale beer and-

Varric stopped, nose twitching. "Hey, is that-?"

Sigrun grabbed his hand and tugged him forward. "Come on, nug for brains. Almost there."

He followed, curiosity almost bursting, sniffing the air, hearing something like laughter badly muffled. Finally, she stopped him, both hands on his shoulders, and tugged the stolen scarf from his eyes. "Open your eyes."

Sigrun stood in front of him, her smile so big it threatened to fly off her face. They stood in a tunnel of the Deep Roads - _the ones under the Keep? _he wondered idly - at the threshold of a large room. Hawke and Blondie stood at what looked like a bar, grins on their foolish faces. Even Bethany was there, was smiling for once, hands clasped in front of her. Beside her, leaning against the wall, was that Howe fellow, a small smile on his normally somber face.

"Surprise!" Hawke said, her face alight with laughter.

Varric looked to Sigrun. "What is this?"

"This..." Sigrun swept out a hand, indicating the room. "Is the new Hanged Man. Or perhaps The Hanged Dwarf, since it's a bit smaller than the real place. You can pick the name."

For the first time in his life, Varric found himself speechless. Sigrun laughed and guided him forward, showing off the bar, where a small, but respectable number of bottles waited on the cool stone. A few tables had been set up here and there, each with a burning candle. There was even a small room in the back, curtained off with a comfortable dwarf-sized bed. It even smelled the same. Though how she got the scent of decades of human filth into the walls he didn't want to know.

"I know it's underground," Sigrun said, hovering behind him, her glee fading a little at Varric's silence. "But there wasn't room in the Keep and the Commander gave special permission for us to fix this up and-"

Varric silenced her by simple method of pulling her into a kiss that shocked everyone present - himself included.

"I take that means you like secret tunnels then?" Sigrun asked when he pulled away from her.

Varric chuckled, ignoring Hawke's catcalls in the background. "I could grow to like to them."


	45. Prompt: Hard in Hightown

**Prompt: Hard in Hightown  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Aveline stepped into the barracks and glanced around. A couple of guardsmen were checking out the duty roster and an elven maid was dusting the mantle over the fireplace. No one was paying attention. Moving the parcel in her hand so that it was shielded by her body, Aveline hurried into her office and shut the door.<p>

Quickly, she flipped through the papers... it was here somewhere...

"Aha!" she breathed and started to read.

_Hard in Hightown: Chapter 25_

_Donnen Brennicovick watched as the templar strode into the barracks. She looked nervous. Was she his mark? But no, those big blue eyes were guileless. Andraste herself had never been so innocent as this little peach. Donnen wondered just what it would take to get this ripe young warrior -_

"Enjoying my latest, Guard-Captain?"

Aveline yelled, sheets of the serial flying everywhere as she groped for her sword. Varric sat in a corner of her office, smugness on every inch of his body.

"Varric..." she said in a warning tone.

"I just want to hear you say it," he interrupted with a grin. "Just once. And I _promise _I won't tell Hawke."

Aveline glared at him. "Extend that promise to Isabela and we've got a deal."

"Done."

Aveline sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I've enjoyed your story very much, Varric."

"And...?"

She scowled at him. "And I'll be sad when it's over."

Varric sighed happily. "That's what we writers live to hear, my friend. That wasn't so hard, was it? Anything else you'd like to add?"

"Yes. Get out before I make you."

"Would you like an autograph?"

"Varric!"


	46. Prompt: These things take time

**Prompt: These things take time  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Hawke wrote her mother's name on the scrap of paper, the ink shining wetly in the dim light of the Chantry. She patted her pockets for a flint, but she had left it at home.<p>

With a sigh, she turned, and almost bumped into Sebastian standing just behind her. He smiled and offered a lit taper.

"Do you have need of this?"

Hawke nodded and lit the memorial candle. Once the flame caught and was burning steadily, she slipped the piece of paper with her mother's name into the flame. It caught quickly, burning with minimal ash, as this particular type of paper was designed to do.

She felt Sebastian come up to her shoulder as she bowed her head, praying.

_I'm sorry, Mother. I'm so sorry._

Despite herself, she felt tears streaking down her cheeks.

"These things take time," Sebastian said softly, his hand warm on her shoulder.

Sniffing, she looked up in time to see Sebastian slip a scrap of paper into the memorial flame. She had time to read two names, _Fletcher_ and _Camden, _before it burned away. His brothers.

"How much time?" she asked, voice hoarse.

"That, I do not know," he admitted and there was a gleam in his eyes as well that perhaps spoke of unshed tears.

They stood side-by-side, shoulders almost touching, as the small flame burned bright.


	47. Prompt: The answer is still no

**Prompt: The answer is still "no"  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"The answer is still 'no', as it was this morning," Nathaniel Howe said without looking up from his bow. He ran a hand along its length, checking for scratches.<p>

Bethany bit back a retort, settling for clenching her hands at her side. "I'm not needed on a simple scouting missing. I'll only be in the way. Besides," she added on inspiration, "there are too many templars surrounding Starkhaven after their Circle burned down. They'll be on the lookout for any mage."

"Templars have no authority over the Grey Wardens and they know it. As do you," he added, looking up at her with a raised eyebrow.

Bethany blushed and glanced away. She heard him sigh and stand up from the table.

"The Warden-Commander did not want me to say this to you," he said, coming to stand in front of her, arms crossed. "But the Commander doesn't know that this is the fifth mission you've tried to avoid with flimsy excuses."

Bethany didn't answer; couldn't answer. Her chest felt tight, her hands clammy.

"You are a Warden now. You must - _must_ - put aside childish notions of hiding behind someone else's skirts, because I tell you now, no one here will be your nanny. No one here will be your templar, ready to cut you down at a moment's notice. _You_ alone will decide your fate. _You_ must decide if you are going to be a help to our cause or a hindrance." He paused, rubbing a hand down his face. "I know you didn't want this life - neither did I. Still, we both of us had a choice."

Bethany lifted her head, eyes intense. "A choice? I had no choice!"

Nathaniel held her gaze. "Drink the blood or die? Yes, that was me as well."

She fell silent.

"But that was still a choice that we made, was it not? To lift the chalice to our lips or meet the Maker?" He hesitated, then put both hands on her shoulders. "Bethany, I see in you the potential to be a great battle mage. You are strong, and smart - you know how to assess the enemy and where to attack his weakest points. You will be - you _already_ are an asset to us. Don't give up now."

She felt her throat close up painfully. "What if I fail?" she whispered hoarsely.

"Then you fail and we will add your name to our Wall of Failure."

She looked up in time to see a half-smile on his face.

"I failed spectacularly to kill someone. Before that, I was a failure to my father. Oghren's life may be described as a failure; Sigrun is supposed to be dead, but is very much alive; even Justice failed to get back to the Fade. And the Warden-Commander?" He shook his head. "There are so many stories I could tell you." He lifted his hands from her shoulders, turning to retrieve his bow from the worktable.

Bethany stood, memories filling her mind. Staying in the house as her siblings eagerly head off to soldier training, hiding in the bushes while a templar passed in Lothering, hiding in Kirkwall... always, always hiding. Always safe. But never really existing. Could she do it? She inhaled a deep breath, fear still stirring in her gut.

"Nathaniel - I mean, Warden, ser?"

"Yes?"

"I..." She swallowed. "I would like to join the expedition tomorrow."

He smiled, making his angular face almost handsome. "Good. See you then."


	48. Prompt: Marley was dead to begin with

**Prompt: Marley was dead: to begin with  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Marley was dead: to begin with, that much was abundantly clear. Donnen Brennicovick sat back from his study of the body, armor creaking.<em>

_"Poor old Marley," he said, nodding at his lieutenant to deal with the remains. "Clearly a murder by the lowest of the low in these parts—the Black Hand himself."_

_"How do you know, ser?" asked young recruit Jillian, her big blue eyes wide with wonder._

_Donnen gave her a slow smile and a wink that made her blush. "Intuition, recruit." He tapped his head. "I've got a feeling."_

"Varric, that's absolute nonsense."

"What is it this time, O wise Captain?"

"Your method of investigation! No _real_ guardsman would go accusing someone of murder based on intuition. There has to be facts! Actual evidence, not... suspicion based on some gut feeling."

Varric scratched his chin with the nub of his quill. "I'm working on a limited time frame here, Aveline. Publisher expects a new Brennicovick story every week. I don't have time to do proper research." He cleared his throat meaningfully. "However... if I had an inside source... someone who could let me know how exactly our brave city guards work..." He shrugged and made a motion as if to get up from the table. "But I don't know where I could find—"

"Oh give it here!" Aveline snapped, taking the bundle of manuscript from Varric. She grabbed his quill too, making marks and notes in the margins.

Varric sat back down, smiling, and laced his hands behind his head.


	49. Unfair: Part II

_A sequel, or continuation rather, of an earlier drabble titled "Unfair." You may want to go read that first._**  
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><p>Hawke stood in front of the fire, rubbing her arms and staring at the door where Sebastian had just left.<p>

"No," she said out loud, startling herself. With calm, quick motions, she returned to her room and dressed. Within a few minutes she exited the Amell estate, blinking in the night to let her eyes adjust. She walked, sometimes ran, to Lowtown, using the shortcuts she'd discovered from years of traveling the city.

Once she reached the Hanged Man, she strode through the singing, staggering drunks, up to Varric's room.

"Open up!" she yelled, pounding on the door. "I know he's in there."

"What the—?" She heard a muffled dwarven curse. "Who in the bloody flames is asking for an arrow in the gut at this hour?"

"It's me, Varric. Wake up Sebastian—I need to talk to him."

A pause.

"You're drunk, Hawke. Go back home."

She pounded harder. "I'm not leaving until you open this door!"

The door opened. Varric, eyes heavy with sleep and hair sticking up every which way, glowered at her, fingering Bianca with more than his usual care.

"Finally!" she said, glaring back. "Now where's Sebastian? I need to talk with him and you can get back to sleep."

"Hawke?"

Hawke spun around to see a very confused Sebastian standing on the stairs behind her, pack slung over his shoulder.

She blinked. "Oh, you weren't… in Varric's room?"

He gestured behind him. "I just arrived. You, uh, got here more quickly than I, it appears."

"Now that you two have found each other," Varric growled, "I'm going to pretend like this never happened. Good _night._" The door slammed shut in Hawke's face.

Hawke rubbed her forehead. "I… Maker, this must look terrible."

Sebastian offered a small smile. "It is a bit… irregular. "

Hawke sighed. "I didn't mean to… hunt you down, Sebastian. But you left so abruptly, I thought—" She bit her lip. "I don't know what I thought. I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone."

Sebastian caught her arm as she moved to walk past him on the stairs. "Wait, Hawke. It is I should apologize. When I left I may have been a bit… short. I was concentrating so hard on leaving that I didn't consider your feelings. I'm sorry if I was rude."

Hawke looked at him, at his blue eyes smiling down on her, and remembered that before he'd been anything else to her, he'd been her friend.

"Let's get something to drink," he said after a moment. "Maybe I'll be able to explain myself better."

They settled in a corner table, well away from the main action at the bar. Sebastian flagged down Norah and had her bring them two mugs of hot, spiced cider. Hawke sipped hers, grateful for the warmth that flared to her fingertips and also for something to hold in her hands. There was something about Sebastian that made her… fluttery. In battle she was confident; sure of herself. Her hands were strong on her sword and behind her shield. She was even good at bandaging—she never faltered at the sight of blood, of hers or her companions. Even Anders had been impressed with her skill at dealing quickly and efficiently with wounds. But those skills seemed not to matter when Sebastian was around.

"I… believe I've mentioned my past. Before I became invested in the Chantry, I mean," Sebastian started, seeming not to notice Hawke's nervousness. His face darkened. "I was… a wretch of a man. A scoundrel—and not the good kind. I…" He ran a hand over his hair. "Forgive me. I don't like thinking of those days. I shamed myself and my family with my actions—the Chantry was the best thing that happened to me."

"Yes. You've said that before," she said in an encouraging tone. His calm voice helped her relax—it was like their conversations in the Chantry—well, minus the drunken singing in the background.

He nodded. "You have to understand, Hawke. I was not... a gentleman with my… with the women I pursued. I used them—they were objects to me. Nothing more." His jaw clenched and she could see the revulsion in his eyes. Her heart hurt for him, and she gripped her mug tighter to avoid reaching for him.

"But these… relationships were consensual," she said, trying to make him feel better. "You alone are not to blame."

He cast her a look. "I was in a position of power over these women—I was a Prince of Starkhaven and I used my title to my advantage." He rubbed a tired hand along his face. "I can't tell you how many times I offered false promises and pledges to get what I wanted—promises I had no intention of keeping. Consensual, yes. Equal? No. It was _wrong_ in every way."

They sat for a moment in silence.

"Earlier, when you and I… kissed," Sebastian's cheeks flushed. "It wasn't just remembering my vows that made me leave. All those memories came rushing back. All the… feelings; the desire. It made me suddenly aware of how easy it would be to fall back into that pit. It sickened me, Hawke. I thought I had conquered that part of me—that wretch that I was." He shuddered and took a long drink. "I would rather die than become him again."

"But you're _not_ him, Sebastian," she said quietly, laying a hand on his arm. "You didn't act on your impulses. Not that I would have minded," she admitted with a smile, "but it's your actions that define you. Maker, if we were all condemned for… less than charitable thoughts, I'd wager Andraste herself would be in trouble."

Sebastian smiled, holding her gaze. "You are… a remarkable woman, Hawke. You are strong and kind and good—and even though we do not always agree on everything, you never make me feel as if having different opinions means the end of our friendship." He reached out a hand, gently covering hers with his. "I… I don't know what path the Maker will lead me down… but I would be honored if you would walk that path with me."

Hawke sucked in a breath. "Sebastian?"

His hand covering hers squeezed gently, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles. "I cannot make you any promises…" He paused. "The only way I would be able to abandon my vows is if I am to retake Starkhaven… I… I have no right to ask you to wait for me—"

"I will," she said, startling both herself and him. "I will wait."

Sebastian searched her eyes again and finally, lifted her hand to his lips, brushing her knuckles with a soft kiss, turning her hand over and pressing his mouth again to her palm; the inside of her wrist.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice gone husky. He looked back up at her, eyes twinkling. "I'm afraid that will have to sustain us both for awhile yet."

Hawke took her hand back, pressing her own lips to the spots he'd just touched. She met his eyes again with a slow smile, noticing the flush on his cheeks. "It'll do."


	50. Prompt: Exciting new employment

**Prompt:**** Exciting new employment; not too intimidated to ask questions; I have the desire and the aptitude (three separate prompts combined into one :D)  
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><p>"What—?" Hawke drew back in shock from the posturing man, flexing his biceps in the middle of Hightown market. "No,I—no." She hurried away.<p>

Later, she was delivering bandages to Anders' clinic when someone else approached her. She listened with half an ear until..

"... and seeing as I'm so great and all, I heard you've positions open on your team, Champion."

Hawke gaped at the woman. "Er, no, sorry. Um, I have to... to go. To give these to Anders."

The next day during morning prayer at the Chantry, a brother in blue robes sidled up to her. "Um, if I am not too bold, Champion, I hear that you are on the lookout for men of skill. I may be a brother, but I am very talented in—"

She clamped a hand over his mouth. "Not. One. Word," she glared. The brother nodded, eyes wide, and she turned on her heel, fuming. At home, she had to kick out a few dozen other applicants who had shown up while she was out.

Finally...

"Where in the world is every wannabe adventurer getting the idea that I want _more_ insane people following me around?" she yelled to the room at large.

"Right here, messere!" chirped Bodahn cheerfully. "Master Varric was pasting these up on the walls a few days ago." He gave her a slightly wrinkled leaflet featuring her face wearing a somber expression and her finger pointing importantly out at the person reading the poster.

It read, _Looking for exciting new employment opportunities? Not too intimidated by the Champion of Kirkwall to ask questions? Do you have the desire and the aptitude for adventure? APPLY NOW. The Champion of Kirkwall is down one companion and will accept for consideration any and all applicants of skill._ And in smaller letters: _Thieves of ancient relics or pirates need not apply._

Hawke clenched her fist around the leaflet. "Varric!" she growled.

#

Varric looked up from his card game at the Hanged Man, a chill passing over him. "Fenris, mind if I hang out with you for a few days?"

"Might I ask why?"

"Just a hunch."


	51. Prompt: Tell me a story

**Prompt:**** Tell me a story  
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><p>"Tell me a story, Daddy." The little girl snuggled into her bed, arms clutched around a battered and well-loved golem doll.<p>

"All right. What should it be this time? How your mother got her tattoos? The Adventure of Bianca and the Spyglass? I can't keep track of your favorites."

"No. I want to hear about Auntie Hawke."

Silence fell in the room.

"I don't know if you're old enough for that story yet, sweet pea."

"Please? I won't tell Mommy. It can be our secret!"

Varric looked at his little girl, at the eagerness shining in her eyes; the innocence still in her smile. He thought of Hawke, of her dead brother, her tainted sister, her dismembered mother, and her possessed lover. He thought of the smell of burning, of the Chantry lying vacant and smoldering, and the red dripping down her blades as the Arishok choked to death on his own blood.

"Not tonight, sweet pea," he said gently, tugging at one of her pigtails. "Maybe next year, when you're a bit older."

She pouted, burrowing down into her nest of blankets. "You always say that."

"Because it's still true. I'm saving that story."

She let out a dramatic sigh.

"How about the Hero of Ferelden? You love that story."

She peeked over at him.

"I'll even throw in an extra tale about the golem."

"Deal." She held out her hand.

Varric shook it with a solemnity required of such transactions and settled back in his chair, gathering his thoughts.

"A long time ago, before our Hero was a hero..."


	52. Prompt: Truth or dare?

**Prompt:**** Truth or dare?  
><strong>

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><p>"Truth or dare?"<p>

"Dare!"

"Just so you know, Isabela, this isn't 'truth or dare: sex edition'."

"You never let me have any fun, Hawke."

#

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth?"

"Say it with more conviction, Daisy."

"Oh right! Um, truth!"

"Wait a minute, Merrill always tells the truth anyway, how is this any fun?"

#

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"What do you really think of Isabela?"

"Really, Varric? I've made no secret of that."

"Aveline's right. Better question!"

"Alright, fine. How about this one? Is it true that I saw you reading Hard in Hightown the other day when you swore on your sword that it was just patrol reports?"

"..."

"Aveline?"

"I hate you all."

#

"Truth or dare?"

"Hmph. What is the point of this game?"

"It's... well, there's not really a point except to have fun, Fenris."

"It's idiotic, is what it is."

"Oh ho! The broody elf is afraid of the truth."

"I'm not afraid of your inane questions, Varric, nor whatever silly dares you could think up. It seems a waste of time, that's all."

"This is _boring_. Can I have a go again?"

"Not your turn, Isabela."


	53. Prompt: Alistair and femHawke, kiss

**Prompt:**** Alistair/femHawke, kiss  
><strong>

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><p>"... I thought the golem actually was going to throw me across the village," said the young king of Ferelden.<p>

Hawke laughed into her hand. King Alistair wasn't at all what she had expected.

Her mother, determined to revive at least some of the former Amell respectability, had hosted a party inviting all the nobles of Kirkwall, and, after hearing about her daughter's chat with him in the Viscount's Keep, the King of Ferelden as well. Hawke had tried to discourage her mother from the idea, saying that the king was likely far too busy, but to her surprise, he had shown up and proven himself the most interesting guest at the party. Where she'd expected stiff formality, the king instead treated her like he'd known her for years. He was funny, charming, and if she'd been at all smart, she'd have foisted him off on some unsuspecting noble hours ago. It wasn't safe to have the attention of a man like him... but here she was talking and laughing with him to the exclusion of anyone else, including Seneschal Bran's son.

Alistair caught her glance over his shoulder and half turned. "What?"

"Don't turn!" Hawke hissed, grabbing his hand and pulling him back behind the pillar. "He's looking for me!"

Alistair's eyebrows rose. "Now I must know. Who is it, Hawke?"

She bit her lip. "Seneschal Bran's son."

Alistair choked on the champagne he was sipping. "The downy-faced boy? The one with the cravat that's been tied to look like something from the Fade?"

Hawke giggled. "Yes, him. Mother's been matchmaking, never mind that he's nearly eight years younger than I am."

"Oh come now, Hawke. Eight years isn't that much of an age difference," Alistair said with a grin. "I'll bet he has some stellar qualities. Let's say we invite him over. I'll even play chaperone."

"Don't you dare!" Hawke growled, unconsciously taking a step closer to stab a finger at his chest. They stared at each other for a minute, and Hawke was suddenly aware of the gold flecks in Alistair's eyes and breadth of his shoulders. _Uh oh..._she had time for one last coherent thought before...

"Hide me!" Alistair grabbed her shoulders and ducked down behind her.

"Maker's breath, what are you doing?" Hawke gasped and heard a distinctly nasal voice pass close by.

"Where iz he? I know 'ee iz 'ere somewhere."

"Pfft. 'Ee iz ze, king, Fifi. 'Ee will know that I clearly am ze better looking one."

"How dare you!"

Hawke raised an eyebrow at the cowering king. "You've attracted the attention of _both_ de Launcet sisters? I almost pity you."

"They won't take no for an answer," Alistair moaned piteously. "Help me, Hawke!"

Hawke grinned. "You keep me away from Bran's whelp and I'll let you in on the secret to avoiding Fifi and Babette for good."

Hope brightened the king's face. "An alliance to avoid unwanted suitors? You have a deal."

Hawke grinned and tugged him out from the safety of the pillar. "Alright. The key to avoiding Fifi and Babette is knowing them: they are extremely possessive. Any hint of you favoring another woman and they'll lose interest."

"Oh. Really?" Alistair suddenly looked nervous.

Hawke gestured to the gathered nobles. "Take your pick, Your Majesty."

Alistair looked over the crowd of chatting nobility, face thoughtful, then turned back to her. "What do I do once I choose?"

Hawke shrugged. "Go to her. Sweep her off her feet? Whatever will grab their attention."

"How about this?" Alistair took one long step forward and pressed his mouth against hers.

_This is a very bad idea,_ she thought even as she twined her arms around his shoulders.


	54. Alistair and Fiona, reunion, kiss

**Prompt:**** Alistair and Fiona, reunion, kiss**

**Note: Some spoilers for Asunder.  
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><p>Alistair ran his hands through his hair, wanting to rip it out by the roots. Peace... it had been so <em>close<em>!

"Send her in," he bit out angrily. The guard bowed and backed out of the room. He turned away from the door and leaned over his desk, looking again at the map. All over the continent of Thedas were large red X's. Circles that had fallen. On the blank margins of the map was a running tally of the casualties. The numbers had been growing every day.

"Your Majesty?" A voice behind him brought him up short. "I've brought the mage."

"Leave us," Alistair said.

"But Sire, the templars will be here shortly-"

"I want a moment with her, and I still have Templar-trained abilities, guardsman," he said, still not turning around. "I'm in no immediate danger."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Alistair heard the creak of armor as the guard left and then silence. He let it sit, the anger boiling in him like water in a kettle.

"Are we just going to stand here like idiots?" said a smooth female voice.

"I wanted to talk to you first," Alistair said. "To find out how a _Warden_of all people is responsible for this much death and destruction."

He heard an intake of breath. "I hardly think-"

Alistair turned around, his face a mask of fury. "No, you didn't. You took an oath! Does that mean nothing to you? Wardens _protect_ people! And you have let them die, needlessly!"

Fiona, former Grey Warden and Grand Enchanter, stood before him, bound in chains, and nearly two feet shorter than he was. Somehow, however, she still conveyed the sense of looking down on him. Her eyes were large and fixed on him, her mouth set in a thin line.

"How many mages _wanted _to stay in the Circle? How many of them died begging for mercy?"

But she seemed to ignore his fury. Instead, she took a step forward, than two steps, and then another, until they were only a few feet apart.

"What are you doing?" Alistair said warily, calling on his templar abilities. He jerked back as she reached up a cuffed hand to touch his face. "I'm warning you-"

"You do look like him," she said in a soft voice.

"Yes, I resemble Cailan. Hardly surprising when he happens to be my brother," Alistair sneered, refusing to look at the portrait of Cailan that still hung in the study.

"No," Fiona shook her head. "Not Cailan. Maric."

Alistair stared at her. "You... knew Maric?"

She was still looking at him, tracing the lines of his face with her eyes, and he realized then that she was... old. Not elderly, not like Wynne, but old. Old enough to have met Maric when he was in his prime.

"Yes," she said after a moment, in a voice that sounded suddenly tired. "I knew him. I... loved him." Her pointed ears seemed to droop as she broke her gaze and looked down at her cuffed hands. "The last time I saw him I was giving you..." She paused, swallowed.

Alistair grabbed her arm. "What? What did you say?"

"I never wanted this for you, little one," she said softly, tears glistening in her eyes. "I wanted you far away; safe from all of this. It's why I gave you to him. I thought he'd keep you safe."

Alistair stared at her, barely aware of the templars arriving at the door of the study.

"Goodbye, my son," Fiona whispered, pressing a kiss into his cheek. Then she was gone, huddled between two hulking templars, and Alistair, paralyzed by her words, sat down in the chair behind his desk, touching the spot on his cheek where she'd kissed him.


	55. Prompt: Fenris, Merrill, kiss

**Prompt:**** Merrill and Fenris, "You're not sorry!", kiss  
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><p>Fenris grasped his bleeding leg with a scowl and a hiss of pain. He looked up to reluctantly call for the abomination to heal him, but the blonde mage was leaning over Hawke's body, looking frantic. Fenris bit back his call for aid; Hawke needed him more.<p>

"Let me help, Fenris," Merrill said, coming up, wringing her hands. "I... I have to do _something_ and Anders won't let me near her - Hawke I mean - but I _can _help!"

Fenris snarled. "I want none of your filthy magic, witch."

"It's not blood magic, I promise," Merrill sighed. "Anders has been teaching me a little of healing magic and it looks to me like you could use it, or do you intend on bleeding out into the dirt?"

"Fine," Fenris bit out. "One hint of you even _thinking _of using my blood or yours..."

"I won't," Merrill said cheerfully, and knelt beside him.

Fenris watched with narrowed eyes, but the magic she conjured to her palms looked just like what Anders usually did. And despite his misgivings, his leg was feeling better by the second.

"There!" Merrill said, pulling her hands back a moment later. "All better!" And then she did something that Fenris would never had seen coming in a million years: she leaned down, and kissed his leg.

Fenris jerked back. "WHAT are you doing?"

"Oh! I'm sorry!" Merrill blushed a violent shade of red.

"You're not sorry!" Fenris sputtered. "What was that for?"

"It's just..." Merrill fiddled with her braids, still blushing. "It's just something I remember my mother doing when I was a child, alright? Kiss the owwie to make it better. Haven't you ever heard of it?"

"If I had a mother, I don't remember it," Fenris growled, flexing his leg experimentally. It felt good; as if he'd never been wounded.

"Well, I am sorry," Merrill said, still flustered. "I won't do it again."

"No, you won't," Fenris agreed, and stood to his feet. As he was walking away, he paused and turned back to the elf girl still kneeling in the dirt. "By the way, thank you."


	56. Prompt: It's not even my birthday

So the Prompt Fest has started up again at the Dragon Age livejournal community, and with all the hype surrounding the new game, I've been inspired to dip into the DA world again. Head on over to the DA LJ community if you too want to participate in fun writing times!

Prompt: It's not even my birthday

* * *

><p>Bethany headed down to the Keep's mess hall for breakfast, one hand trailing against the wall. It was hard to believe that this enormous fortress rightfully belonged to Warden Howe... or at least it did by birth. Now it belonged solely to the Grey Wardens.<p>

Her hand clenched convulsively and she paused before entering the hall to compose herself.

As she pushed open the door, a knot of other Wardens looked up from a table. Bethany's eyes snagged on the storm gray eyes of Nathaniel Howe and she nodded briefly before heading for the table where food was lined out in plentiful arrangements to meet the huge appetites of the wardens. Bethany's stomach rumbled despite herself, and she loaded her plate.

She had no sooner sat down at an empty table before a tall figure sat down next to her, plunking a plate in front of her. She blinked and looked into the angular face of Nathaniel Howe.

The plate he set down on the table held a small chocolate cake with a single candle in it.

"It's not my birthday," she blurted out, a little flustered by his closeness.

"It is," he said in a gravelly voice. "It's your second birthday."

"My 'second' birthday?"

"Tonight the Warden-Commander had told us we will be celebrating the first of what she hopes will be an annual event: the celebration of our becoming Wardens. Our 'second' births." He nudged the cake closer with the tip of a finger. "This is yours. Cook made one for everyone, though I had to save yours from Oghren."

Bethany felt her fingers clench the edge of the table. "Why," she said, her voice sounding brittle to her own ears, "would anyone want to celebrate the beginning of our eventual decline into madness?"

If she had hoped to crack the cool exterior of Nathaniel Howe, she was disappointed. His mouth twitched in what instead might have been a smile.

"It seems that way sometimes, but for many of these wardens—including myself—it is a day to celebrate a second chance. You know what my family was, Bethany, don't you? My father murdered the family of a man he once fought alongside as a comrade-in-arms. I was painted with the same brush: traitor, they called me. But here, among the Wardens, I am only a brother. What we were before no longer matters. The past cannot hold sway here." He peered at her face. "What were you before the Wardens, Bethany Hawke?"

Bethany's fingers twitched. "Thank you for the cake," she said after a moment, "but it is not a day that I want to celebrate. Oghren can have it."

Nathaniel let out a breath that was almost but not quite a sigh. "There will be a party tonight," he said. "Please come."

Bethany stared at her plate and made no response. His arm brushed hers as he rose from the bench beside her and left the table.

#

_Apostate._ The word resounded in her head. It was the kindest term out of many she had heard directed at herself by others, family, or even her own sense of guilt. Bethany sat in front of her fireplace, hands clasped in her lap. What was she now? As a Warden, she was no longer beholden to the Circle or Templars. She had loyalty only to the First Warden and her fellow wardens

"I shouldn't be here," she muttered to herself for what felt like the hundredth time. "I don't _want_ to be here."

But she was here and there was no getting around it. Perhaps... perhaps she had to find that piece of her Malcom Hawke in herself. Her father was somehow able to become what he needed to be in every town they moved to. At the time, she'd thought it was mere survival that encouraged these changes, but now she looked at them in a new light. Maybe her father had relished the changes; maybe he had looked at them as opportunities rather than prisons.

Maybe... maybe Bethany Hawke could remake herself too. Maybe she could replace the word "apostate" with something else... something stronger. Bethany eased her way out of her room and followed the sound of laughter and music to the great hall. The party was in full swing when she opened the door to peek in. A quartet of wardens with instruments sat before the empty fireplace, feet tapping to the beat of their own music. A few couples were dancing, others eating, others just gathered in groups, talking.

She felt the urge to melt into the background, to blend in, to hide, and had to force herself to take a step into the room. One step more. She would change. She would be stronger... she would grow...

A passing servant carrying a tray of goblets passed by and on impulse, Bethany seized one and downed the liquid inside in one gulp.

It was a mistake. Choking, gasping as the alcohol burned down her throat and up her nose, Bethany squeezed her eyes shut as the unpleasant sensations passed.

"You came," said a voice above her.

She glanced up to see Nathaniel smiling down at her. Her heart gave a wild leap.

_One step forward..._

"Yes," she said, standing up straight and meeting his eyes, unable to stop herself from blushing, but trying not to care. "I figured out something."

"What is that?" he asked, holding her gaze.

"I want to be brave," she said, and before she lost her nerve, she took two steps forward and pressed her mouth against his.

Nathaniel stiffened at her touch and she started to draw away, but then his hands came up to her waist, and he was kissing her back and he tasted of wine and cinnamon and the start of something new.


End file.
